


He Don't Fuckin Care

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And I'm such a trashy writer, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), But also be nice, But so is Lance, Cuban Lance (Voltron), F/M, Gen, I'm a mess™, Lance (Voltron) Has Anxiety, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Lance has siblings, Lance is badass, Langst, M/M, No one is bad, Smoking, Underage Smoking, fight me, i guess, okay, this is my first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lance knows how to hold his own. But he isn't indestructible.





	1. Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> I DO NOT condone smoking. I actually quite detest it. But it plays a big role for Lance in this soooo... 
> 
> Also, I have this thing about mentally strong Lance. I feel like a lot of people make him vulnerable and that's okay. (Tbh, I'm a fucking how for Langst) But, guyyysss, he has like a hundred siblings and I think he knows his limits quite well. That being said he also knows when he needs time alone. 
> 
> Btw, this is my first fic so feel free to tell me how much I suck. Thanks.

 

Finally some peace and quiet. When people leave he finds it so much easier to just. _Chill._

 

Honestly.

 

From Keith always grating on his nerves from that fucking aggressiveness, to Pidge’s nonstop talking back, he really needed a break. Especially because most of that talk is directed to him from both of them.

 

Don’t get it twisted! He loves them! In fact, he lets them direct all of their emotions onto him because it’s so obvious that if he didn’t, then they would have no outlet and it would eventually have self-destructive effects. It’s no problem, really. He has so many younger siblings and he is very used to balancing out his sibling emotions and instead becoming their emotional support, so it’s nothing new.

 

 _Although_ ….he wonders if maybe if it is a problem if he has to resort to _this._

 

After such a long day with Zarkon’s countless attacks where they can’t even get an inch of rest, this is pure gold. Who cares if his room is a mess(he usually would be so finicky about mess) because all he cares about is a place to lay back and smoke.

 

He's not too keen on smoking and doesn't quite condone it.

 

(That's an understatement. He once found his younger sister smoking with a couple of her _punk_ friends at the shopping center around the corner. When he saw her on one of the store fronts smoking, he lost it. “¡¿No tienes vergüenza¿¡” As he already embarrassed her in front of her friends, he held back a little and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dios mío, Beth…. Siguete haciendo el chistosito y vas a ver cuando lleguemos a la casa. You are not too old for a whoopin’.” They had just moved to America that month so he was not too great at English but he only needed Beth to know what he was saying. She had apologized later and she didn't get punished too badly, only a promise to her older brother to make better decisions.)

 

But it seems that bad habits are passed down in his family as his Mamá also was a stress smoker. He was lucky enough to have his mother’s ancient cigarette pack on himself when he was thrown into space.

 

He sat on the edge of his bed looking for something to listen to on his phone.

 

“Oh shit, where are my headphones?...” Lance shrugged because he could care less at this point.

 

There were five cigarettes left in the pack and his fingers twitched at the thought of sweet relief. He found the lighter and remembered why he had it the day that they were upchucked into space in the first place. He was only able to call and see his Papá once a year so receiving such a heartbreaking call that night made him rush into overdrive.

 

(“Hijo, tu padre está muerto….” His mother was blubbering the whole time, it's a miracle that he could even decipher any of what she was saying. He was well aware of his father's condition. Not only was he in Cuba separated from his family, he also had a tumor. His mamá refused to tell him the details of how bad it was but he knew it was bad enough that he was not able to board the avión. Lance knew in this moment that he had to be strong for his familia. It was short lived, obviously.)

 

Hands shaking as he tried to light it. When he is finally able to light it, he released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He put the cigarette up to the lips and inhaled his country, his family, the coffee beans his mamá roasted in the morning, the strong heat of the sun, and beach days on burning days. He exhaled this broken team, or family, or _whatever the fuck they were._ He exhaled the anger, the loneliness, the pain, his Padre's death.

 

He was particularly feeling stressed today. He felt bad for letting it get to him, especially because he and Keith have these unspoken rules for their perpetual banter. He just.. he doesn't even know...Keith brought up a taboo something or another. It wasn't his fault but he still felt hurt.

 

The smoke envelopes him and it pulls out all the tension in his shoulders. He lays down on his bed and leans his head even further into the pillow and forces his eyes shut as if to forget anything that bothered him today.

 

He hears a knock on the door.

 

“Lance? Can we come in? It’s Shiro and Keith.” Shiro’s authoritative voice drawls in through the door, making his question seem like a demand. And, _honestly,_ Lance didn't give two fucks about anything but his cigarette right now.

 

Nevertheless, he answered back, “Sure, I guess...Just open the door.”

 

Shiro and Keith file in and first thing Shiro does is start hacking like he’s dying.

Lance, with his eyes still closed, chuckles and says, “Dude, chill out a bit. It’s not even that bad. Like, I really just lit it a minute ago.”

 

Keith looks a little surprised but less affected, “You smoke?”

 

“Ahhh...not often..but yeah. It’s a bad habit I wasn’t able to break.” He grimaces for a split second. Lance then opens his eyes and stares pointedly at them. “What do you guys want though?”

 

Shiro comes back to life and perks up, “Oh yeah, I meant to ask you earlier if you had any preferences on the group schedules Allura just made.”

 

Lance paused bringing up his cigarette to his mouth and responded, “Nah, not really, but I do think that doing too many mind link exercises could stress us out a bit more than usually.”

 

Lance closed his eyes again and expected the two to leave because this was a little weird. Usually Shiro and Keith are in their own little world and completely forget about their other teammates.

 

“Actually…,” Oh, there it was. “We came in here for a completely other reason…”

 

Here it was, the real reason they came into his room. They were going to tell him that he needs to improve his strength or combat abilities or some stupid shit like that.

 

Keith cleared his throat awkwardly, “ _Ahem._ I came to apologize for earlier. I was very frustrated then and that isn't an excuse to yell at you...uhm...yea sorry.”

 

Lance, caught off guard, blinked then broke into a troubled smile and asked in a spiteful tone, “Hah. Do you even know why you're apologizing or did Shiro drag you here?” The smile on his face warbled a bit and he decided he needed another drag of his cigarette.

 

Keith paused and dropped his head down to stare at his scuffed up boots. Shiro rubbed the back of his neck.

 

He wasn’t angry at Keith. Never was. He was angry at himself for allowing himself to wallow in his own self pity, to wallow in it enough for Shiro drag Keith in here to apologize for something he wasn't even quite sure that he did.

“You guys should….” He pinched the bridge of his nose and forced his eyes shut, “You guys should leave..” He brought the cigarette to his lips again.

 

“Can you tell me what I did wrong?”

 

“Don’t worry Keith. It wasn't you in the first place.” He tapped his cigarette on the ashtray on the small desk next to his bed. On the desk was a small pocket watch. That pocket watch was the only thing he had to remember his father and Cuba by. “It wasn't you.”


	2. One Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically this boi is sad and angry and idk yo. 
> 
> Tw: ethnic slur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You. Guys. Are. So. Fucking. Nice. 
> 
> What the fuck.
> 
> Also. Take note of the trigger warning abt the ethnic slur. It ain't nigga(I'm black chill guys) it's a Latino slur that I FUVKING HATE OH MY GOD. 
> 
> And also, this starts out really murky but the conflict is revealed as he's sorting through his thoughts. 
> 
> Why do u guys like trashy writing.

Everything went all wrong. From assembling this morning to saving the people in need.

 

How long has it been? A month? A year? Can he remember his hermanito’s face? Brown eyes? Blue eyes? Maybe he had coals instead of eyes. 

 

_ He doesn't know.  _

 

It’s been bothering him lately. He feels so far away and nobody seems to understand. Everyone else's mission is in space. His mission was supposed to be his family. 

 

“Okay everyone!” His attention is brought back to Allura, “Today has been a long day!”

 

He scoffs. Long couldn't measure to the extent of it. He just needed a cigarette and a target. He just needed people to stop trying to look him in the eye. People to stop asking “How are you?” It's goddamn obvious how he feels about this whole thing. He feels stressed, paranoid, overworked about this ongoing war. What are five  _ kids _ in a robotic suit going to do? What difference does it make?

 

Allura clasps her hands together, “That seems to be all I needed to cover. You guys are free for the rest of the night!” 

 

_ It’s so funny about Allura _ , Lance thinks.  _ She seems so sure in everything she does. She knows her next step, where it's going, and how to get there. But it seems like she has no sense of what she's getting into and is pushing forward without seeing the directions. _

 

Everyone disperses and Lance finds himself unconsciously going towards the training room. He can feel his figure hunch and he keeps overthinking everything about today and what he could've done better.

 

_ What could he have done better? _

 

He walks into the training room, rifle bayard in hand. He doesn't care anymore. He doesn't give two shits about anything right now, except for the need of a target and a  _ fucking cigarette.  _ Each step he takes includes a hidden mantra of  _ target, cigarette, targets, cigarettes _ , something to make it stop. 

 

To make his mind stop. 

 

He didn’t think he’d need a cigarette so soon. How long had it been? Seventeen hours since his last? He’s seen them start dwindling down ever since the Garrison-- from twenty to two being left. 

 

Shedding his jacket and throwing next to the entrance of the training room, he spoke out, “Target combat practice begin.” 

 

An automated response responded, “State level.”

 

“Level six.”

 

In these past weeks Lance found himself training more often, smoking more often, alone more often, and sleeping if he wasn’t doing one of those. Talking to Hunk less, finding joy in simple things less, being honest less, and finding it harder to crack a joke to lighten the atmosphere. He’s pretty sure that they’ve noticed changes, but he also knows that, as a team, they don’t have time to think or talk about their feelings.  _ To feel feelings, much less.  _

 

He came to the training room to clear his mind- another drone down- but all it’s doing is making his head swarm with more thoughts. 

 

_ Can someone switch the brain switch off, for Mary’s sake?  _

 

Steely, blue eyes sweep across the room. He counts seven more target drones. They sweep across once more and each glance to the drones is another one down. 

 

“Level seven.”

 

Eighteen drones down. Shooting down targets is like breathing air. It’s second nature. It’s a likeness of elation, this feeling. But lately his targets have been real people, specimens, with blood and vessels and emotions and the sounds of their cries ring in his ears. His air has become toxic, something so dangerous that the smoke he inhales from his cigarettes become a comfort and the carcinogenic chemicals are harmless.

 

“Level eight.” 

 

Twenty-five drones down. Lance decided at a young age that humans are horrible destructive people. He saw it in the eyes of his young peers-  the hatred passed down systematically through a badly hidden hatred under what they said was religion or another. Young Lance saw past the excuses, “Religion”, “Laws”, “Normalcy”. Well fuck them, young Lance had said. Fuck them.

 

“Level nine.”

 

Another set of drones down. In middle school, he realized that it wasn’t as easy as flipping the bird at some random racist, sexist, homophobic, rich person in a Cadillac driving through  _ his  _ hood. It never was. It’s all about the money, the thrill,  _ the power.  _ When his little sister came crying through the back door about some bully, he couldn’t do much but say, “M antén la cabeza alta, mi nina hermosa.”  They lived in a predominantly white neighbourhood (which didn’t change the fact that the living conditions were horrible), and even though the discrimination wasn’t blatant, they had no one to turn to. No one to trust. If he was to make a complaint about some mother’s darling little boy bothering his little sister, who knows what would have happened. He can’t go ‘flip the bird’ in their face.

 

“Level eleven.”

 

Another set of drones down again. He reaches the Garrison in his early teen years and he thought he could be at peace.  _ Ha. How naive.  _ He thought that he would be on equal terms with everyone because the diversity was so immense. His naivety only lasted for a week. He understood why he did not have access to certain things because he was on a scholarship, yes, but kids are  _ cruel, so cruel.  _ His experience at the Garrison brought him back to his memories of the cold hearted young peers with chilling stone hearts that were taught ignorance by their families towards people like him. People who are different.

 

“Level nineteen.”

 

And more drones fall. Now, he is immersed in a battle against real people with flesh, blood, vessels, and people who have an awareness to their feelings. Somehow though, they look like his childhood peers and he sometimes stalls before making them a target. He stalls and listens, to see if he can hear them still taunting, “ _ What can you do better than me, you wetback?”  _

 

He knows he’s supposed to feel like he’s doing something good for the people in persecution, he knows it. But he feels like a  _ monster. _

 

Now, he plays it off, after every nightmare and every wave of nausea, like he doesn’t care. He swears he doesn’t.

 

“Level--”

 

“LANCE!”

 

Lance is so startled he nearly shoots the stupid-fuck-who-broke-his-concentration’s head off. 

 

“Allura! What the fuck?!” He rushes over to her. “You could have gotten hurt!”

 

There’s a dent in the wall just about six inches from her head. Allura is speechless. Or angry. Or frustrated? Lance can’t tell. “Lance! Have you any clue what time it is?!”

 

It’s probably at least three hours after the team meeting, so,“10:00 at night?”

 

“No! Hunk just finished making breakfast!” Allura fumes. “Have you been here for the whole night till now?!”

 

“I guess.” Lance massages his right wrist. He didn’t realize how long he’s been at it. 

 

Allura looks at him with the oddest expression and he can’t put his finger on it. “Lance...please go rest. It’s not healthy to be staying up so late, especially as a member of Voltron.”

 

A precarious feeling overtakes him and the cigarettes are calling him. “Yeah, I’ll head to bed...Pass me my jacket please?” He nods to the article of clothing next to her feet. She picks it up and hands it to him.

 

_ “What can you do better than me?” _

 

_ What could he have done better? _

 

_ What could he have done better? _

 

Taking the jacket from her, he pulls out the cigarette pack from the inner pocket. He then wonders where his lighter is. Lance spins the cigarette between his fingers and starts to walk out through the training room doors, passing Allura. 

 

_ Is it one cigarette down or is it one man down? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mantén la cabeza alta, mi nina hermosa  
> Keep your head up, my beautiful girl 
> 
> Comments? Maybe some chap. ideas? Thanks for reading my trash. 
> 
> And alsooooo, to that guy/gal/really cool person who told me not to put him in withdrawal....I decided that it's gonna happen soon anyways. Ik, ik, I'm evil, u don't have to flatter me.
> 
> Next: Hunk is an asshole?!?!?! (I didn't even see that coming!!!)


	3. Llévame a Casa Por Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought everything would be okay for today. Just for today.
> 
> He thought wrong.
> 
> He salty af.  
> (tw for panic attack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay A HUNDRED KUDOS THAS GREAT
> 
> In other news, prepare yourself
> 
> Remember when I said that Hunk is the asshole? That kind of changed, bc remember!!, no one is bad in this story. We just have misunderstood and even more misunderstood.  
> Also, tw for panic attack. I'm well acquainted with panic attacks, so I tried to keep it pretty tame.
> 
> Enjoy!!!

After he had his impromptu training session he passed out. He wakes up a day and some change later and feels a sudden urge for 3 gallons of water. His mouth is dry and cracking and he wonders if he fell asleep with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He grimaces when he tastes the residue of chemical grime residing in his mouth.

 

He drags his body to the bathroom and looks at his unmanaged reflection. Hair and cowlick ready to put up a fight for another half hour, and- is that a pimple?!- acne seems to don his face  _ now _ more than ever. He makes sure to brush his teeth so he can get rid of the plaquey taste that has overtaken his mouth. Fortunately, at least with all the sleep he was allotted, he is able to maintain the look of being fully-rested. Even though he feels so far from it.

 

After making sure he looks the least bit presentable, he checks the time. “Oh! It’s eleven in the morning!”

 

At this time, usually the team is either training or having a meeting. He pulls on his jacket and makes his way to the invisible maze. When he reaches the end of the hallway leading to the maze, he hears murmuring and a bustle of laughter. He reaches the motion activated doors and he hesitates.

 

Everything was going so well. Too well.

 

His main concern was Allura telling the others of his crazed target frenzy. 

 

As soon as that thought appears, he laughs at the audacity of himself. He can’t stop thinking of his own problems for one second, could he? What does it matter what Allura told them? She has the right. He almost shot her! 

 

He walks in and his fist is clenched hard enough to draw blood.

 

“Hey guys...” Cue hard smiles from everyone.

 

Allura speaks first, not allowing an awkward silence, “Lance! Thank goodness you’re awake. I was beginning to worry.”  

 

He looks at her, but immediately averts his eyes. He was brought up in a family where respect was a very heavy aspect of everyday life. You do something or say something out of place, you work your way back to whoever you’d done wrong in order to gain their trust again. Living as the middle child with his mama being a single mother has a way of building personality. Being the middle child means you get in trouble from both sides, the older and the younger siblings, and having one mother means that distributing out love becomes harder than it should. He noticed gradually as he grew older that putting others first became a major part of his personality and it makes him a lot more apologetic about things he feels he should’ve been able to prevent.

 

Whether or not Allura noticed his small act of showing shame, she continued: “You don't have to worry about missing anything while you were sleeping. It was a diplomatic visit to the Balmerans to check up on their progress.” She turned away from him, her back facing him cryptically, but her position and posture told him that she was allowing to come closer. 

 

He stopped pulling at the ends of his jacket sleeves and moved his arms around hopelessly, not knowing what to do with his loose appendages. He edged towards to Allura and the rest of his team and stood at least a good 2 feet behind them. 

 

He took notice to how Pidge wasn't there amidst the rest. As if reading his mind, Shiro said, “Pidge is in the maze,” Lance glanced at the maze for the first time since entering the room, “and Keith will be going next.” 

 

Shiro looked back at him from the corner of his eye, as if analyzing his condition, “Would you be okay to go next?”

 

The right answer would be, “I feel like fucking ass, so no.” 

 

The answer Shiro wants to hear is, “Sure! I've had enough time to relax and I should try to be useful!”

 

The answer Lance gives to Shiro is, “I don't see why not.” 

 

Pidge makes it unharmed through the maze with the guidance of Keith surprisingly. Lance takes Keith's place in guiding and Keith subsequently groans in agony. Lance laughs at this and pats the other’s shoulder and bitterly consoles him, “Don’t worry, I'm not feeling up to taunting you today.” 

 

Keith gives him a look once over. Then Keith mutters under his breath, “Whatever.”

 

The rest of the team, besides Keith, look at Lance. Feeling their stares he glances to the side from the map of the maze and stares back. It’s silent confusion, a silent battle. Pidge shifts their eyes away from him with a fabricated nonchalance. Shiro is still in the firm stance of a soldier and keeps his eyes on Lance, but there isn't any intrusive intent. No, not from him, the one he feels uneasy about is Hunk. Hunk is staring bloody murder at him. He could sense a storm coming from ten miles away with this uncanny tension. 

 

_ Whatever _ . He ignores it.

 

He turns to the mic and starts to relay directions to Keith. The directions were mindlessly and accurately said. There was a drone in his voice implying that he wasn’t properly paying attention to the bonding exercise. 

 

It was hard to pay attention when there’s someone is burning holes through his skin. Suddenly he’s over it.

 

“What the fuck is your problem, dude?”

 

They don’t have fights often, but when they happen, it isn’t pretty. Most of them are the product of an unspoken realization from Hunk but Lance wouldn’t know because their relationship has been deeply altered by recent events. They tried pretending like everything was alright, but when they realized home was too far gone, Lance guesses that they just….drifted away.

 

Hunk blinks, in surprise, at Lance’s assertive approach, “You are not seriously asking that, right?”

 

“Yea, I’m asking!” Lance rolled his eyes and started to stalk over, “You’ve been staring at me for past 10 minutes, Hunk!”

 

By now, Lance is so close to him he has to peer down his nose to look at Hunk and Hunk is standing tall against Lance’s facade of confidence.

 

“Oh?! Well, I’m sorry for being concerned!” Hunk shouts back.

 

Pure anger, like nothing the team has ever seen before, overshadows Lance’s face. It’s a deep and hungry thing, and Lance knows because he’s been on the receiving side of his anger before. He punched mirrors and seen the results of what his words could do. Who they could harm. 

 

He remembers seeing his older hermana’s terrified face when he yelled at her for abusing his good nature. He will do anything for his family, his familia, but his anger is a cold fury and speaks for itself when what he really needs to be using is his brain.

 

This is not the case. He is tired of the tension that sets him and the rest apart. They know nothing of him, his family, his past, his present.

 

_ They know nothing. _

 

“Concerned?!” He snarls at Hunk, “You know full that I’m trying my best! There is no reason for you to be analyzing my every action like I’m prey Hunk. ”

 

“Yeah. Sure.” Hunk drawls back. “You haven’t even been making the effort to spend time with me. Much less them!”

 

“I’m sorry that I need time to  _ actually fucking think. _ ” Lance laughs sourly. “It’s a constant battle. There's no stopping this war. Have you thought about what's going to happen when we win against Zarkon?”

 

He looks at the rest of the team with dark, cold, and steely eyes then speaks in a dangerous low voice, “There will always be another Galra in the Galran empire to brainwash and make a successor. War doesn't end as simple as killing off the leader. And us? We're just kids.”

 

Hunk rushed at him and pushed him up against the walls, “TAKE IT BACK, YOU ASSHOLE. IF YOU COULD STOP PITYING YOURSELF FOR A SECOND YOU'D REALIZE THAT WE HAVE A CHANCE!” 

 

Hunk yelling was foreign to the team, but Lance was unfazed. They've had their fair share of fights, though none this bad.

 

“Whatever, Hunk. Don't fool yourself.” Lance was getting tired of rolling his eyes. “This team can't even be called a team. All of us,  _ including me _ , are caught up in our own problems. And what are the chances that any of us want to be here? Less than ten percent is my guess.”

 

He pushed off Hunk firmly, and walked towards the mic, “Sorry Keith. You’ll have to figure out the rest of the maze with someone else.” 

 

Keith groaned loudly, and for a faint moment Lance wanted to laugh. To forget and be naive and say  _ “This isn't happening, and everything is alright.”  _ He wanted to laugh like a drunkard that's celebrating someone or something.

 

He turned to walk out the door, which he seemed to be doing a lot lately, and came face to face with the rest of his team.

 

Pidge, the smart kid, withstood the act of nonchalance. They knew this would happen, no doubt, and they probably knew that it had to happen. Shiro, on the other hand, was not as willing to let it end there.

 

“Lance, you could have talked to me. That’s what a leader is there fo--”

 

“Cut the bullshit.” Lance interrupted Shiro. The assertiveness made even Coran, who typically stays out of arguments, startled. 

 

“Shiro if you can’t even come to anyone else about your problems, why should I come and burden you with my own problems?” Shiro looked down. “No one is speaking up or even trying  _ to fucking talk about their own problems.  _ So why the fuck should I? How are we gonna be the saviors for people when we can’t even work out the main problem at hand?”

Coran was ready to step up at this point, but what Lance said next stopped him dead in his tracks.

 

_ “I don’t feel safe here.”  _ Lance whispered it, but it resounded through the whole castle. His eyes were downcast but no one could mistake the shine in his eyes. He looked up and looked at Hunk, then almost immediately looked away.  

 

He walked to the door and just muttered, “I’ll be in my room.”

 

The hallway was cold and dark and the darkness continued through the whole castle. He could already feel a cigarette between his fingers. When he made it inside his room he was shivering. And even though he was shivering, his body felt hot like someone was setting him on fire. Nausea overtook him and a buzzing blocked out all sounds and he doubled over with his back against the door. The buzzing persisted and made him yell in agony and he held his hands to his head as if that would make it stop. 

 

Hot tears streamed down his face and there was a strong urge to light a cigarette but all he can remember saying is, “Llévame a casa, llévame a casa, llévame a casa, llévame a casa…” over and over again until his vision finally went black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Llévame a casa-  
> Take me home
> 
> Lol, were you ready? I wasn't.
> 
> Idk if I'm just hallucinating, but I feel like my style changed??? Which is normal because I'm reading the Great Gatsby for school? But please tell me if it feels out of sync so I can rewrite it. 
> 
> And!!! And!!! Please tell me if there are any typos, mistakes, or anything I should change. It'll be real helpful.
> 
> My friend cussed me out(jkjk) for me putting down my work so,,, Thanks for reading my *ahem* over glorified trash. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Did?? You?? Enjoy??? 
> 
> Honestly wtf. I'm such a trashy writer but nobody writes abt his father. And I was like "where he at tho?" I mean, I could've made his father absent but nahhh. 
> 
> Okay. Comments?? Criticism??? I'm sorry I suck at life???
> 
> ALSO. I made a spotify playlist for this.. It was the mix he was tryna listen to when he couldn't find his headphones.


End file.
